Good Game

Can u do like one with a dorky geek being forced against his will to be turned into a jock and become like the star quarterback for the team like me

“You see, the problem with modern society is that, suddenly, all the emphasis has shifted from physicality and physical endeavours to cerebral enterprises and the furtherance of technology.  Societally speaking, that can only lead to a slow downfall of everything we, the human race, have ever built.  We have to get back to basics!”  On each word of the last sentence, the man banged the meat of his palm on the desk in front of him, emphasizing each point.  His gaze, however, never wavered from the array of students sitting in front of him.  His eyes swept the room, as if daring anyone to disagree with him.  He held the menace in his teeth, playing the silence out, and suddenly relaxed, shifting entirely into another mode, that of easy-going, affable Coach.  “But the pendulum swings, boys, the pendulum always swings.  One extreme to the other, and boy, when it comes,” he chuckled, swaying his head and clicking his tongue, “it’s gonna come hard.” 

The bell sang its saw-song through the air, jarring everyone from their respective trances.  Matthew snorted, turning to his friend.  “Are you kidding me?  One logical fallacy after another.  And that pseudo-social science he was spouting?  Did you even hear that?  Why did we even have him in class today?  What was that supposed to teach us?”

Sanjay shook his head.  “Which one do you want me to answer first?”

“Any.  None.  It doesn’t matter.  Just doesn’t make any sense.  Why have the coach of the football team lecture us on how intelligence and critical thought and technological know-how is actually, you know, in disguise, the downfall of human civilization!  Oh, yeah, let’s prize barbarity and tout physical achievement as opposed to …”

Honestly, Sanjay tuned him out.  Sure, Matthew was his friend.  Yeah, he was smart.  Probably one of the smartest kids in the school, but he had a demanding, needy persona that was just sometimes hard to bear.  He could be arrogant, almost preening, constantly displaying his prodigious vocabulary and scorning anyone who didn’t reach his impossible standards.  Still, better to have him on your side, Sanjay reasoned, than not.

“So, yeah.”  Matthew tossed his hair back from his eyes.  He’d been letting it grow long, some rebellion thing.  “Wanna watch foreign films tonight?”

“Uh,” God, again?  He had a passion for subtitles that bordered on the pathological.  Sometimes, he’d even quote the French when the appropriate time arrived.  “I can’t, tonight.  Family … thing.”

“Oh.  Okay.  Well, a toût a l’heure, mon ami!”

“Seeya,” Sanjay moved off into the hallway throng.  “Weirdo.”

o

The faint, overlapping sound of calls and cries, short and shouted, that echoed from the field.  Some grunting.  Matthew hated that, in order to walk home, he had to follow the small sidewalk around the back side of the school and around a fairly large chunk of the football field.  He usually had his earbuds in, and today was no exception, with Einstürzende Neubaten playing (and only because of the name) in his ears.  He tapped his hands idly against his thighs as he walked, tapping out a badly-timed beat to the song he was listening to.  His eyes he kept firmly fixed ahead.  He refused to look at the game in progress, or the training, or whatever.  Can’t deny that his eyes did flick to the left, but he didn’t turn his head, so that doesn’t count.  Or so he reasoned.

Out of all the sports, Matthew hated football the worst.  He could make concessions for “real” football, or soccer, if he was pressed, but American football, the NFL, all of it, just left a bad taste in his mouth.  Stupid celebrity body-glorifying inane banal moronic and, on one occasion, mentally retarded, were all words that came out of his mouth whenever confronted with the topic.  Team sports on a whole repelled him: the whole notion of conforming to a set, of being reduced to a function, caused him to shiver way down deep inside his skinny body.  He was furiously proud of his body, liked that he could slip in and out of places unnoticed.  He wore mostly blacks and grays for the same reason.

Of course, he was bullied.  What kid isn’t?  Matthew is no idiot.  He’s read books, seen movies, he knows.  The bully does it because the bully feels like he’s inferior in some way, is over-compensating.  Yeah, he knows the “why,” but the “what” keeps happening.  Physical threats.  He’s been tripped, kicked, spat at.  He does not let himself break to the bullies.  He knows that he is superior to them, and one day, they’ll be pumping his gas.  The knowledge of this certain future is enough to glaze and harden the sneer on his face whenever he runs into them.  

He looked up just in time, swerving to miss the outstretched hands of one of his classmates.  He didn’t even have time to notice which one it was.  All he saw was a wide grin and the palms of the hands, and the world yawed above him, sky to treetops to treetrunks to dead leaves on the ground, and he was falling, poorly, ungainly and akimbo, ass over teakettle, and rolling, crashing through various underbrush, skinning his palms on ill-placed rocks, the world became a splatter of color on a palette, and then turned to gray fuzz as he came to a halt.

“Whoa, kid, kid, holy fucking …”  Someone had rushed to his side, but Matthew couldn’t tell who it was.  His eyes were unfocused, his ears were slamming loud carillons of hiss and bells, he throbbed, nearly all over.  He thought, well, nothing’s broken, and remembered relief.  He cracked his mouth and a strange noise flopped out, like a broken bassoon.  “Are you OK?  Did you just fall?”

“Stupid … question,” Matthew said, and passed out.

o

He woke up at home.  In his own bed.  His posters on the wall, his strange Russian propaganda posters, his vintage movie posters.  He still throbs all over.  That part wasn’t a dream.  This is, however, that weird murky space between waking up and really waking up.  Surfacing, sort of, through the shallows.  He remembered … falling.  He remembered … being pushed!  His head is like an anvil factory.  Jabs of clanging pain twinned to his heartbeat.  He groaned, and ground his hand, hard, into his left eye.  The pain did not abate.  He rolled over, the sheets followed, and he untangled himself, with some amount of confusion.  There was a slightly heavy … slightly wet smell in the air, almost as if someone drenched in cologne had been there recently.  It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, Matthew thought murkily, then shook his head violently.  No!  It was awful!  It smelled like a locker room.  How the fuck did he get home?  He reached for his phone, which was where he always kept it, on the night stand next to his bed.  He thumbed it open.  No missed calls.  No new text messages.  The time was 10:30pm., on whatever day.  He idly thought he might have amnesia.  It was dark, and he could hear the crickets sawing feverishly away outside his window.  He felt a stab of hunger, and slowly swung his legs out of bed. 

The anodyne glow of the big-screen television was near-blinding as Matthew limped down the stairs.  Weird, he thought.  No one in this house is usually awake at this hour.  He moved closer to inspect.  No one on the couch.  Not a sign that anyone had been there, actually.  It was all very Roanoke.  He half-expected to find “CROATOAN” carved into the coffee table.  It gave him a little, dull chill.  As he moved closer, the sound of the television grew louder, and the picture seemed to clear, resolving from white noise to figures, moving back and forth on the screen.  The white noise resolved into the sound of … an audience?  Matthew squinted at the screen, came even closer, outstretched a finger to prod at its surface, delicately.  Then he backed up, shaking his head, chortling.  “C’mon,” he said out loud, the sound of his voice flat in the living room.  “Don’t be a moron.” 

It was a game on the television.  A football game.  NFL, from the looks of it.  Uniforms … orange and white and orange and black.  The, uh … Broncos and the Browns.  Right.  That’s a lot of orange.  I didn’t even know we got this channel.  What channel?  Oh, ESPN, right.  The football’s pretty fucking elusive, doesn’t seem like anyone can get a handle on - oh, there we go.  That guy’s running.  He’s got the ball.  Feels like something’s going to happen.  Oh, hey, this guy’s coming out of the, no, no, he’s gonna make it he’s - oh.  Nope.  That guy jumped on top of him and he wasn’t close to the end zone.

Matthew felt a strange sense of disappointment, almost deflation.  He cracked his neck to one side and frowned a little.  The players were reassembling.  Some of them look kinda goofy.  The uniforms are kinda cool.  I mean, sorta.  It’s like armor, or something.  Representing … uh, like, houses, or … hey, they’re playing again. 

He found his muscles tightening, his hands forming into fists, as the football was snapped into play.  His eyes watched it as it described its arc over the field, soaring, spiralling, toward the eager and outstretched hands of – and

“INTERCEPTION!” 

Matthew snapped back to himself with all the force of a comet smashing into Siberia.  He blinked, blinked again, and then shook his head.  Was that something rattling around up there?  Jesus, he must’ve hit hard.  He should get some more sleep.  Was he just watching football? 

And … was there a moment there, just a moment, where he … kinda enjoyed it?

o

“Day 2,” Sanjay mimed a gun at his temple, lazing back in his chair.  The windows were open, and a light breeze sashayed in.  “Seriously, though?  Mandated physical education in the form of indoctrination?  Not sure that’s what they had in mind, but … hey, it’s gettin me out of class, right?”

“Yeah,” Matthew mumbled.  He was still kind of out of it, bruised up and scraped pretty badly, but with no lasting injuries.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I must’ve really rattled my brains in that fall.  Shit…”  He dropped his pencil and fumbled around under the desk for it.  “I’ve been so clumsy, today, too…”

“Maybe you got a concussion or something, man.  You should check in with the nurse.”

“Naw, it’s … I slept, last night, so, I don’t think it’s a, uh, you know.  That.  Man, this headache.  I keep taking all this aspirin.”  He shook out a pill from a plain white bottle.  “Don’t know if it’s actually helping, or what.”

Sanjay cocked his head at his friend and shrugged.  “Suit yourself.  Your funeral.  And I wouldn’t take so much advil, man.  Five, at the most.”

The door to the room slammed shut, and the coach walked in.  He never wore street clothes, or, if he did, his street clothes were the same as his regular clothes: basketball shorts and t-shirt, sneakers and socks.  He was a younger man, probably in his early 30s, with a corded, muscular body and a commanding presence lightened only by an aloof affability.  “Welcome back,” he said, and the room immediately quieted.  His eyes swept the room again, much in the same manner as before, as if surveying a course of meats.  “I - “ he stopped as his eyes fell on Matthew.  “Matt,” he said.  “Hope you’re feeling better.“

“It’s Matthew,” he said clearly.  “And yeah, I’m fine.  No thanks to the guy who shoved me.  And I will find out who that is,” he added venomously.  “And when I do, you can be sure I’ll be taking it to the proper author - uh - “

The coach seemed expectant, then shook his head and continued.  “Well, recent drama aside.  We’re here today to talk about the benefits of fitness, and how being physically fit is important in all ways, and, in some ways, how it is the most important.  Your brain won’t function if your body isn’t fed, right?  And we feed our bodies by giving it nutrition and exercising it just like we would a machine.  Sometimes … those machines need a tune-up.  I bet most of you here need a tune-up or two.”

“Not me, Coach!’  Brody piped up.  Matthew’s eyes skated over to him.  He was the QB.  He was just over six-foot and weighed twice what Matthew did.  He sat in his desk and possessed it of a gawky adolescent superiority.  His voice was deep and his face was shadowed around 5 o’clock.  “I’m runnin’ on all cylinders.”  He lifted his arms and flexed.  Most of the class groaned, some of the girls looked sideways, and a paper ball or two was tossed.

“Yeah, well, simmer down there, Bro.  It is true, Brody is at his peak physical form for his body type and his age.  That’s something you can all aspire to.”

Matthew felt dizzy.  The top of his scalp itched.  His throat itched, felt swollen.  He glanced at the back of his hand.  He watched it detachedly as it rose of its own accord, sleepily at first, then erect as a flagpole, fingers straight, unmoving.  “Yes, uh, Matthew?”

His words sounded, to his own ears, as if they had been dredged out of him.  “How do we .. uh, do that?”

The coach stared at him for a minute, inscrutably.  “Good question, Matt.”  Matthew let the name go, almost like a bullet in slow motion past his ear, creating auditory ripples in through his ear and passing through his brain - “Well, we can work out, we can play a sport and join a team - shameless plug, football team still needs some good bodies, signup sheet’s outside the door - but there’s lots of different ways to achieve your physical potential.

“You really don’t look so good,” Sanjay commented.  “And what was that all about?”

“Nothin,” Matthew said.  He felt drunk.  “I, uh, it’s fine.” 

The class continued, and Matthew sat there, silently, eyes fixed ahead.  The buzz and pound in his head continued.  It was almost as if the dream he’d had about watching football on the television was still playing, projected on the inside wall of his skull, and he was hearing it from far away.

o

The bell announced in its shrill, strident way, the end of class.  Matthew filed out with the rest, past the coach as he was erasing the whiteboard.  “Matt,” he heard, and he stopped.  “I just wanted to … are you OK?”

“Yeah,” he heard himself say.  “I’m good.”

“Well, you had a nasty spill.  You said someone pushed you.  You hit your head and you scraped yourself up, but nothing was broken.  We used your phone and called your roommate and they came and picked you up.”

“Oh,” Matthew said.  “It’s Matthew, you know.”

“What?”

“You keep, uh, callin me Matt.”

“Well, I guess it’s just easier.  Just a nickname.  What’s so wrong with Matt?”

“It’s, uh.  It’s not my, uh.  Yeah.  Whatever.  Look, I - “

“Want to sign up for the football team.”

“… Huh?”

“I’m joking.  What’s up?”

“I, that question I asked.  Maybe I should, you know.  Work out.  So I don’t, you know, ‘fall,’ anymore.”

“Hey, Matt, that’s a great idea!  Not to mention it’ll really help build up your confidence.  Who couldn’t use some of that, huh?”

“Right,” he agreed, a little uncertain why.  A weird molten surge of … something, was starting to heat up in his stomach.  “Yeah.”

The coach dropped his big hand on Matthew’s shoulder and grinned.  “I’m so glad you want to do this, Matt.  I really think it’ll do you wonders.  How about I take you down to the gym for your free period and show you the ropes?”

“My - how did you know I have a, next?  I didn’t -”

“I get all your schedules.  C’mon, I’ll show you and I promise, you won’t be able to stop once you start.  It really is addicting.”

“Yeah, right,” Matthew mumbled, but was already being ushered to follow by the coach’s arm and hand.  Before he knew it, they were walking down the hallway, out through into the dazzling sunlight, and then back inside via two metal doors with arrowslit-like windows, metal wiring.  The gym.  The echoes began almost immediately.  Basketball sneakers against the floor with their skreek skreeking, rubber on lacquer.  The clang and repeated thud of weights against racks.  A pumping soundtrack, fading in and out. 

“You’ll be right at home,” the coach said.  “Trust me.”

I doubt it, thought Matthew, but Matt’s face was grinning, and Matt’s mouth was saying, “Awesome, Coach.”

o

“So, how’s the recruiting stage going?”

“Great.  Aspirin was a great way to hide it.  No one knows.”

“And after a minor, accidental, spill, pain relief … is somewhat necessary, wouldn’t you say?”

“Brody is a good QB.  He’ll do whatever I tell him to, even if it does include a little … hooliganism. ”

“How about your white whale?”

“Oh, Matt’s doing amazing.  You know, you wouldn’t believe it, but the kid’s twice his size.  We’ll have him on the football team for this coming season, and he’s gonna make a hell of a QB after Brody graduates.  Isn’t even a trace left of who he was.”

“We want to thank you for allowing us to test our new drug out on your student body, as it were, Coach.”

“Well, I understand the need for a return to the fundamentals of society.  If that comes at the expense of some brain cells, well, so be it.”

“Quite right.  Excellent work.  I assume you’ll be having another winning season?”

“Year after year.  Year after year.”

Unknown Title 3

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

It had started off as just a funny flirty prank between him and his friend Michelle. On a long weekend before exams, they were going to take a study break (procrastinate, really...) and go to the local mall. Michelle's roommate Tricia tagged along as well, probably so it didn't feel like a date. Justin had been friends with Michelle since their freshman year. He had a crush on her from time to time, but had never acted on it. He sensed that he was always going to be in the "friend zone" and had learned to just enjoy that privilege instead of pushing his luck. Maybe things would turn around some day.

Michelle and Tricia were trying on sunglasses inside one of the stores, giggling madly. Justin was shyly killing time while they laughed about which glasses looked cool and which looked stupid. "How about these?" said Michelle, "for Justin!" she added as she walked over. They were a pair of shaded aviator-style glasses. "Try 'em on, Justin," said Tricia. Justin shook his head. "Oh, come on!" they both pleaded. "Please..."

"No, I don't want to try them on," Justin protested, a little too loudly and aggressively. "Geesh, you don't have to be an asshole about it!" said Tricia.

"I think they would make you look cool," said Michelle. He couldn't read whether this was sarcasm or not, but decided to yield and put on the stupid glasses. When he put them on, Tricia stifled a giggle and Michelle tried to look supportive. But one look in the mirror made Justin blush. He felt stupid and ashamed, nothing like the cool and unattached man he would expect to wear something like these.

He slammed them back on the rack. "They make me look like a douche bag."

"Well, you sort of are a douche bag," Tricia replied. Michelle was looking away, letting Tricia have her moment.

"What?!" Justin replied.

"You don't even know, do you? You come out to the mall with us to have fun and do nothing but pout. We are trying to have a good time and you are just a downer all the time. And, you're oblivious to it?"

Justin tried to get Michelle to bail him out, but she was still looking away.

"And you've got so many damn opinions! And you always think you're right, all the time!"

"Wow. I don't have to stand here and listen to this," he said walking towards the doors back into the mall.

"Exactly, my point, asshole!" Tricia shouted after him.

When he got to his car, he saw that his phone had a message on it -- a text from Michelle: "Sorry. You're not an asshole."

He texted back: "Thanks. I'm going back to my room. Have a good night."

Back on campus, he swung by the library to print off a study guide his professor had sent to his class. And he bought a burger and fries at the campus grill. He felt stupid for making a scene at the mall. He hoped that Michelle didn't think he was judgmental or opinionated. He thought the night was going fine, even if Tricia was there. Maybe he was oblivious!

When he got back to his dorm, his roommate Kyle was sprawled out on the couch playing video games in his boxers.

"Dude! Where've you been?" he asked.

"No where...studying," he answered.

"Studying is for losers," he laughed back. "Oh ... Michelle stopped by looking for you. Were you going to meet her tonight?"

"Yeah, we went to the mall hours ago. Geez, Kyle, have you been playing this game all day!"

"Who gives a fuck what you think, Justin!" he answered angrily. In his head, Justin replayed what Tricia had shouted earlier that evening.

On his desk, he saw a note and what looked like a sun glasses case.

"For my favorite asshole! ~ Michelle"

"Fuck!" he whispered under his breath as slammed his hand on the desk. He was angry, but new that Michelle was just trying to take pity on him. That made him even angrier!

Kyle's character took a bullet through the head and he shouted obscenely. Justin looked over at him and asked loudly, "When did Michelle drop these off!"

"I don't know, 20 minutes ago?"

"Was Tricia with her."

"Tricia? Oh, that's her name! Hate that chick! Yeah, they were trying not to laugh."

"That bitch!"

"Easy dude. What's wrong."

Justin held up the pair of sunglasses and then put them on. Kyle started laughing uncontrollably.

"Did you pick those out? I mean, dude, you could never pull those off."

"Why not?" Justin asked.

"You don't have the balls. I mean, you're way to insecure."

"Insecure? Wow, didn't think you even knew that word, Kyle."

The look on Kyle's face changed instantly. "Fuck off! You know, maybe you should wear them. Only a total dick would wear 'em anyways!" On the screen of Kyle's game he saw his friends chatting, clearly upset that he hadn't spawned again to help out. He switched on his headset and told his team.

"Guys, sorry. My roommate's being a dick. I'm headed over to Nick's place. It'll only be a minute." He switched off the game, ignoring their protests. Kyle grabbed a pair of smelly gym shorts, a t-shirt with holes in it, and his flip flops and walked down the hall to his friend's room. Justin was used to this. He actually cared about getting good grades, so Kyle's gaming habit led to a lot of frustration. Usually, the solution was for Kyle to join his friends in another room. Justin took off the stupid glasses and sat down on his computer. He tried studying for a few minutes, but then started randomly browsing the internet. It started as general searches about upcoming movies, video games, things going on around campus, but somehow, it turned into looking at pictures of guys wearing sunglasses. He typed into the search bar: "Do sunglasses make you look like an asshole?" There were pictures of sexy men with sunglasses and comments about whether or not it made them attractive or unattractive. This led him to type another stupid question into the search bar: "Am I an asshole?"

There were a few results, most of them dumb quizzes on line. He clicked on one from a website called "Insecurities.com" with the title "Watch this video to find out if you're an asshole?" As soon as he clicked on the link, he felt something change in the room. It was like all the lights had dimmed and the sound faded away. The video lit up the screen and he heard a drone-like sound coming from his speakers. Over top of the sound was a calm and soothing voice.

"Listen closely and relax. You are watching this video because you have questions. But I want you to stop thinking about the questions and start listening for the answers. Just relax and let my voice become your thoughts. All you need to do is listen and you will know the answer. You have chosen to listen. And you have chosen to hear the answer."

Justin's focus on the computer continued to increase. He couldn't look away. He couldn't move. All he could do was listen and stare blankly into the white-blue screen. The video showed hypnotic fractals and swirls, which were drawing him in deeper and deeper. The voice seemed to drift off, making him have to listen more and more carefully.

"You are listening for the answer. Listen closer. The answer is here. Listen closer. Listen. Listen."

He thought he heard a distant voice. A voice that was inside his head, not in the computer. It was the smallest whisper.

"You are an asshole," said the voice. "You care only about yourself. You are an asshole. You don't care what others think. You care only about yourself. You are an asshole. You like the way you look. You look confident and you are confident. What other people look like or think like doesn't matter. You are an asshole. You are confident. You are strong. You know what you want and you go out and get it. You are an asshole. If someone criticizes you or your choices, you don't care. If someone confronts you about something, you ignore them. Everyone you know already knows the answer. You are an asshole. They know it. You know it. If they treat you differently, it is because you are an asshole. And you don't care. When this video stops, you will wake up. You will not remember this video. But, you will know the answer. You are an asshole."

The video stopped and Justin felt the room brighten and return to normal. At least, Justin felt like it was normal. He picked up his phone and saw that he must have texted Michelle and she had replied.

"A party tonight? Isn't it kind of late. This isn't like you."

"Whatever. I'm going. Meet you there," he texted back. He never used to be so short with Michelle, but he was tired of being pushed around and felt a confidence growing inside him. For a second, he had a fleeting thought that he should apologize at the party, but heard a voice say inside of his head, "Whatever." At the sound of this voice, he felt a warm sensation in his chest, like his shirt was sweaty and tight. He walked over to his dresser and pulled off his shirt. "What the fuck!?" he said aloud. He was startled that he had said the f-word, because he rarely swore. What was even more surprising was what he saw in the mirror. His chest was glistening with sweat, showing his tight pecs and chiseled abs. He flexed his arms a little and gave himself the "sexy" stare. It was like he was a completely different person -- completely unrecognizable. He stared into his own eyes and saw his old self -- insecure, worried, second-guessing, weak. He heard a voice in his head saying, "You are confident. You are strong. You know what you want..." He grabbed the pair of glasses off his desk and put them on. A haze seemed to wash through his mind now that he couldn't make eye contact with his old, vulnerable self. He stole some of his roommates product and gelled his hair. He took one of his jackets and ripped the sleeves off. He felt invigorated by this new identity. He felt like he could do anything.

--

The party was a block from campus at a friend's apartment. When he showed up, all eyes were on him, but instead of laughter, most people just stared in shock, jealousy, or flirtation. At least three girls gave him "the look" before he found Michelle and Tricia at the back of the party.

"Justin ... you look ... I mean ..." fumbled Michelle. She looked concerned.

Tricia was giggling to herself and Justin looked at her. "You have something to say?"

"No, it's just ... it's just a new side of you."

"Get used to it."

That was the last night he ever spoke to Michelle. Something had changed between them, but he didn't care. Tricia tried to hit on him when she got drunk. He called her a "fucking whore," the last thing he ever said to her. He took Miranda, a girl older than him back to his room. He told Kyle to "fuck off," then had sex in his bed out of spite. It felt glorious. Within a month, he was kicked out of college, which was for the best, since his grades were plummeting anyway. He spent most of his time at a local gym and a college bar, where he picked up chicks, most of them from a different college in town. He wasn't sure if he was happy, but he sure as hell was having more fun. And if anyone suggested that he was a terrible person, he owned it and didn't care. If you're an asshole, you just blow them off!

Ostello della Moda: Diego

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

Luke slid the last cigarette out of the pack and lit it up within a few seconds of stepping outside the brightly lit airport into the dark, hot Milanese night. Local time was 2:30 A.M., but he needed a cigarette so badly! The airline industry makes smoking so difficult and he needed his fix. He inhaled deeply and thought about his girlfriend back home. Well ... his ex-girlfriend. Part of the reason for their breakup was his smoking. That, combined with her desire to get married and started on a perfect American life, made Luke somewhat glad that he was free. This was going to be the trip of a lifetime!

He inhaled deeply and wondered if he could get a taxi to take him to the "Ostello della moda." They said they had 24-hour check-in. His friends were probably catching up, maybe headed out for a night on the town without him. But, he would catch up. He was the real party-animal of the group and always had been. He remembered those days in college when he would come back to the apartment completely hammered and they still took him in and helped him get to bed. He missed that -- he missed his friends.

He tossed the cigarette onto the concrete and walked towards a waiting taxi. He would need another pack in the morning, even though he was going to try and cut back on this trip. He wanted to quit, but habits don't die easily. "Last one until tomorrow night," he vowed.

The taxi wasn't air-conditioned and he tried to get comfortable. The cab smelled like smoke -- which made Luke even more anxious as the taxi bounced it's way towards the city because he could few the craving grow again -- especially when the driver lit up while driving. He didn't know enough Italian to ask him to stop, so he just inhaled it in and tried to relax. It took the cab about half an hour to make it to the hostel, and he tipped the man generously because he helped with the luggage.dn't

A sleepy young Italian man greeted him and asked him a few questions. "Uh...passport?" he said. "Right," Luke said as he reached into his bag. The zipper was halfway open and he pulled out a few things while digging for his passport. An opened pack of cigarettes fell onto the floor. Luke picked them up in astonishment. He was positive that the pack was empty. Plus, this was clearly an Italian brand that he was unfamiliar about.

"Sir...passport?" said the man. "Oh ... yeah. Here it is," he replied, wondering if maybe the taxi driver had left them there.

"You can smoke in the courtyard," said the man looking at the pack of cigarettes in Luke's hand.

"Oh, I wasn't ... I mean ... thanks."

"I need to make copy. Please, relax. I will return."

The young man walked into a back office and left Luke alone in the room. The courtyard looked empty and he didn't see any of his friends around. The cigarettes seemed to radiate energy and he knew it wouldn't go away until he smoked. He nervously walked to the courtyard, pulled out his lighter, and puffed away. The smell was different than the cab driver's brand. It felt comfortable. It felt like he had smoked these for years. On one of the drags, he brushed his hand against his chin and felt stubble. He could have sworn that he shaved before he left on this trip and he shouldn't have stubble yet. He also felt a burning on his left shoulder, like tingling needles. He put out the spent cigarette and spat into the bushes. On his way back inside he saw a bathroom and raced inside. He felt sweaty and sick, like his whole body was writhing. He pulled his shirt away and saw a dark black and red patch on his shoulder. His face looked different too. He pulled off his t-shirt and looked in the mirror. On his left shoulder and chest there was a large tattoo. His body looked slim and athletic, much more muscular than he remembered. He managed to put his shirt back on, but it was tight against his body and uncomfortable. His head was flooded with the high from the cigarette, but he managed to find the front desk again.

"Ah," said the man handing him his backpack. "Room 234, Bunk D, Diego." When he said the name "Diego," something clicked inside him. He felt a wawdve of recognition, including a mastery of the language, flooding into his brain. It was as if the chemicals in the cigarette had opened up an entirely new person inside him. As he climbed the stairs, he felt less and less like Luke and more like Diego. When he opened his back pack in the room, he pulled out a tight leather jacket, slim black pants, a pair of sunglasses, and dog-tags that had "Diego" printed on them. As he looked out the window at the dim morning light, he wondered if Bruno, Christo, and Antonio would be coming back soon. He walked over to the window and lit up another cigarette. He shivered slightly, and noticed a vein running along his bicep and the moon carve shadows on his tight abs. He stared out at the street letting the smoke fill his lungs, and with a deep breath, he exhaled the rest of his former life into the dark of night.

Manual Labor Client Three

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Brian and Jose were the only two still following Mr. Godfrey around school with blank stares on their faces. A bell rang and students filed into the hallways as Mr. Godfrey ushered them towards an exit.

"Hey, Jose," shouted a student. "Where you going? Are we meeting up later."

Jose stared back blankly, causing Mr. Godfrey to step in between a say interject. "They have detention. Do you want to join him?"

"No ... uh ... no, sir," said the student, retreating back into the crowd.

"Keep walking," he said to the two hypnotized guys as they headed outside. On one side of the parking lot was a shed that the school used for storing their buses, vans, and other vehicles. It was also where they taught a few classes occasionally, in particular the automotive club. Outside, there was a small truck with straw bales and bags of feed in the back. Mr. Godfrey turned to Jose, "You, get in the truck and wait." Jose walked towards the truck and mindlessly open the door and waited in the passenger seat. Brian and Mr. Godfrey kept walking through the open garage doors shop. There was a run down car with its hood open and engine parts and supplies scattered on work benches. Mr. Godfrey pushed a button next to the door and started lowering the doors. He walked over to the car and turned the key and the car revved to life.

"All right, kid. This is your assignment. Get under the car. Pay attention. Get your hands dirty and you'll make a good mechanic."

Brian stared blankly back, still deep in trance.

"Are you stupid!? Get under the car," said Mr. Godfrey, stepping closer. The boy looked scared and confused. "Here, let me help." He walked over to Brian, dipped one of his hands in some motor oil and wiped it onto the sleeve of Brian's shirt. He held his finger next to Brian's face and said, "Breathe it in, boy. Breathe deep. Relax. Breathe." Brian's eyes seemed to roll back into his head in ecstasy. Mr. Godfrey wiped the rest of the oil onto Brian's cheek and forehead.

"Your shirt is dirty, boy. You better keep it clean," he said. "How about you take it off and get under the car?"

Brian's hands moved slowly and he pulled off his shirt.

"Good, now lie down. Breathe. Relax. Just lie down on the dolly over there."

He knelt down and rolled onto the metal cart with wheels. Gently, Mr. Godfrey wheeled him under the car.

"Just like tucking you into bed. You're tired. Relax. When you wake up, you will be relaxed. Just keep breathing."

The exhaust fumes and heat from the engine made Brian feel more relaxed. He hear Mr. Godfrey turn on the radio of the car and blast it. The fumes started to make him go dizzy. He saw a bright light and heard a door slam. Mr. Godfrey had left the garage and he felt like he was paralyzed underneath the car. The radio seemed to fill his head with sound and he felt like his body was melting away. He blacked out.

---

When he woke up and saw the underbelly of the car above him and heard the engine rumbling. He instinctively felt his arms and legs rolling the dolly back into the garage. He was surprised because he wasn't sure why his body was moving, but it was like he was in a dream. His body was moving but he was not in control, just on autopilot. He opened the door and turned the key off, listening to the engine wind down. He walked over to the hood of the car, grabbed a rag, and began working on the engine. He look at his hands and realized that they were black with oil and grease. He was shirtless and his chest and arms were covered in sweat and grime. His baggy jeans were barely held up by his belt. He looked down at his body and saw that his waist and torso were chiseled and toned. He lifted a tire off off the ground nearby and felt his arms swell up with muscle. He slid the tire into place, grabbed a air wrench, and zipped the bolts into place. The car looked like it was complete, so he walked over to the sink to clean up. He couldn't help but stare at his body in the mirror and felt aroused when he ran his hands over his sweaty body. Some part of him was resisting this transformation and he knew that this was all a dream or hallucination. But his body was beyond control, and he seemed to be remembering new things about his past. He took shop classes in high school, had always been interested in motors and engines, he could recite facts about cars and trucks, and even watched NASCAR from time to time. Next to the mirror, he saw a hook with a pair of military dog tags hanging. The name on them was "Bruce Torkelson," which seemed familiar to him. Instinctively, he slung the chain around his neck and felt the cold metal resting on his chest. A wave of new memories washed over him. He had enlisted in the army right out of high school. He had been a mechanic for a few years. He never saw active duty, but worked on equipment and vehicle maintenance. His army buddies had given him the nickname "Tork" and he had grown used to it over the years. He served his duty and now worked at a local mechanic's shop. He grabbed a camo t-shirt from the bench, slid it over his head and headed over to the door. He flicked the lights off in the garage and walked outside. He could barely remember his high school days, but that didn't matter anymore. Parked outside was a Harley-Davidson. He turned the key, revved the engine, and cruised out of the parking lot.

Roommate Needed Two

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I felt a little awkward waiting on the steps, but I had rung the doorbell and their was no turning back. My previous landlord had given me a few days to find a new place, but he wanted me out of the building as soon as possible. Half way through the semester, this was one of the only places still advertising. This neighborhood wasn't my typical crowd, but I would learn to adjust. "As long as I make the rent payments, they shouldn't care about anything else," I told myself.

The man who opened the door was wearing nothing but his boxers and was holding a bowl of cereal. Even though it was afternoon, it looked like he had just woken up. "Hey," I said, trying to look him in the eye rather than his tight abs and pecs, "I'm here about the open room. You're looking for a roommate, right?"

"Yeah, man. Come on in," he said. He shut the door behind me and walked towards the kitchen. "I'm the only one around right now, but let me show you the place. This is the kitchen..."

The place was a total dump, but that was understandable with a group of college guys.

"My name is Chris," he said as he set down his bowl. He picked up a black tank top off a chair and pulled it over his head and every muscle in his torso seemed to flex as it fit into place. "Let me show you your room."

"I haven't even signed any paperwork or anything," I said as we walked up the stairs.

"Don't worry about it, bro. Things are really relaxed around here," he responded. He opened the door and showed me my room. The walls were covered with posters, mostly pictures of cars and motorcycles, and a flag with our school mascot. On the floor was a pile of clothes, a frisbee, and a football. The desk had a few empty beer bottles, but also a nice laptop.

"Does someone still live here," I asked. "I thought it would be emptied out."

"Nah, he just left this behind. Make yourself at home. We can clear it out later," Chris said, taking my bag and throwing it on the bed. I wanted to stop him, but something inside me convinced me otherwise.

We stepped back out into the hallway. "Here's the bathroom and shower."

At that moment, I suddenly realized I had to take a piss. I felt awkward asking, but said, "Can I use it now? Sorry, but I really have to piss!"

Chris laughed. "Sure dude. I'm be in the kitchen making some lunch. You can stay if you want."

"Thanks," I said as he started downstairs. The bathroom was small but had a big mirror and tiled walls all around. As I stepped in front of the mirror, I realized how out of place I would be in this house. Chris was probably six feet tall and built like a bodybuilder. I was only 5'4" and had grown pretty chubby over the years. I wasn't obese, but definitely had a gut, flabby arms, and pudgy face. I walked over to the toilet and knocked over a green baseball hat sitting on the rim of the shower tub. I left it sit on the floor, turned, started unbuttoning my pants. As I finished pissing, I felt a shudder run through my body, like an electric shock. My jeans suddenly fell to my ankles. My shirt starting feeling tight and uncomfortable. I felt my forehead and realized I was sweating profusely. My t-shirt was already drenched and I clumsily pulled it over my head.

Behind me, I heard the shower running. I though to myself, "Was it always running or did it just turn on?" Steam had begun to fill the room and I began breathing deeply. The smell of body wash and cologne drowned my nostrils. I pulled down my boxers and realized my cock was fully erect. It swung heavily from side to side, much larger than I had ever seen it. The mirror was white with steam, but I had a feeling that my body was somehow transforming. I stepped into the shower and let out a deep sigh as the water washed over me. With every passing second, I felt my mind relax and my worries wash down the drain. I grabbed a wash rag, some body wash, and started lathering myself up. As my hands passed over my body, I felt invigorated and full of energy. New muscles flexed beneath the washrag. My hairy chest and arms were smooth and taught. I felt taller and more confident.

I turned off the shower. Wiped the mirror with a towel and looked at my new body. I grabbed the green hat off the floor and put it on my head. In my mind, I felt a surge of memories wash over me. I put on some clothes that were scattered on the floor. And headed back downstairs.

When I stepped into the kitchen, Chris greeted me as if nothing had happened. "Glad to see you're all settled in. Want some lunch?"

"Thanks man," I replied.

--- Originally posted on 2024-07-03 by breedertfs ---

--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---

Definitely am a proud gay guy but i've definitely seen a few of these gay to straight tfs and they're hot af! Your writing makes me want to transform myself, hit the gym, and chug a beer with the bros regardless of sexuality!

You're letting this affect you the right way, my man. All my readers should learn from you.

It's been feeling so natural, hasn't it? The way your cock starts to grow fat in your underwear the minute I start describing a hot chick. All those guys you used to hate, the ones you roll your eyes at and claim so proudly to be different than, there's something about them that has you fascinated. You can't help it. It's like some part of yourself, deep down, is calling out to be realized. To be brought to the surface.

To be set free from the cage you've been building. You love the way I make these straight bros speak, the way they act with snide arrogance, so sluggish and dumb and yet so primal. An apex predator, an alpha, a handsome stud with rippling abs and huge biceps always flexed. A cocky smirk, a strong jaw. Not to mention the forests of damp hair beneath his arms, the sour stench of sweat, cum, and sex lingering around his body like noxious gas. He's a stink bomb that is continuously going off.

You love how he belches, how he farts and blames it on the protein, how all he cares about are his brothers. Toxic masculinity really isn't so bad when you're standing on this side of the fence. Your feet are starting to feel secure on the ground, aren't they? Wide, and long, and so firm. Dusted with wiry curls of dark hair. You feel sweat squelch between your fat toes, but you pay it no mind. You think about being surrounded by your bros, how they'll joke about your huge feet and how you must have a massive cock, too. You love the kind of men I write about. You want their respect, their approval, their brotherhood so badly.

You are the kind of man I write about. Because if your cock is getting so hard to the idea of embracing traditional masculinity, if you're about to start jerking your cock to the descriptions I will soon make, then the truth has already revealed itself. I barely have to change anything. Your bones crack and shift, your shoulders grow broad and your nose is strong, your brow harsh and your eyes blazing with dominance. Your body inflates with courage, with conceit, as your leaking, lengthening cock already starts to ooze a thick wad of pre. It's so easy to reshape the outside. Pump up the muscles, make the features a little more rugged, all I'm really doing is making the outside match the inside.

There's a familiar voice that sounds like your own calling out, demanding you to snap out of it, to value your identity and what you know to be true, that this is just a fetish and the world you're stepping into isn't the right one. But it feels so natural, so good, as that whiny voice gets drowned out under the low, domineering tone that makes its home inside your head. I want my cock in a wet cunt, the new you drawls, your wider hips bucking with pleasure and your fat cock jiggling in your tight underwear. You can see the engorged veins beneath the fabric, the fat cock head oozing pre and leaving a splotch. It jerks in place, bobs up and down, it wants so desperately to be plunged between a pair of bouncing, fat, silicone filled tits.

You throw your head back with a low, masculine moan, your meaty hand reaching down to grab your package, stroking your thumb along the shaft. Every trace of the old you, the lie you were telling, is eradicated beneath a tidal wave of new information. All that fancy college learning goes down the drain, all those old dreams and desires and falsehoods, all that's left is a powerful, straight conservative man who knows exactly what he wants. He has never questioned his instincts a day in his life, he has always known he has been an unrivaled male specimen. Wasting his superior seed and not siring a shit ton of sons would be a crime.

Your seed.

It swells in your balls, it makes you ache and tingle, all of the feelings and lust that are taking over belong to you. There's no going back. You're one cocky fucker, a man sculpted by genetics and a conservative upbringing, a man who has always known where he stands in the hierarchy. At the fucking top, with your massive muscles exposed and your fat cock pointing at the next babe it wants to erupt inside of. You continue to jerk your cock, losing all memory of my stories and my silly little kinks, all too happy to spend a night being pleasured by your callused fist knowing it'll take you no effort to get hard again. You think about which bitch you're gonna call later, the blonde with the bee stung lips or the sexy goth, and your cock pulses with the need to impregnate a fertile womb.

Your mind settles into a happy haze of sports knowledge, cockiness, and camaraderie for your fellow traditional man. Most of all, forever filling the empty space of your brain, what remains of you will be wedged in eternity between the hot, breedable women you can't go an hour without daydreaming about. A hot blonde and a brunette with huge tits are scissoring in your mind, making your red blooded cock surge with need and lust. Every last essence of the gay man you once were is smothered between rubbing folds, bouncing breasts, and oozing pussy juice. This loss of self doesn't bother you. It doesn't really feel like you're losing anything at all.

You blow your load all over your chest, basking in the afterglow for all of ten seconds, and then you lift your muscled leg and squeeze out a droning protein fart. The strong smell makes you proud, and the loud sound makes you chuckle like an idiot. Life is going to be so simple, so correct for you from now on. No going back, only forward.

Go ahead and shoot a message to your future baby mama. It's time for you to breed.

Dillon fumbled with the business card in his fingers and remembered how he got it earlier with fond thoughts. He ran into this stud of a man only mere hours earlier and he surely wanted him and was dropping hints like anvils, but why wouldn't Dillon just pick up the phone then and call him up.

It could have been that marshal was an obvious bro while he himself was the scrawniest twink around. Maybe it was also the fact that he was still a virgin, which seemed to be an embarrassing fact to him that he resented the hell out of. Sometimes he wondered what it was like, but he was afraid. He was afraid that it wouldn't exceed his expectations or that it would just hurt in general. Losing your virginity is suppose to be a defining moment of your life, but would it just end up as an embarrassment that he'd have to suppress in order to function in this world. Marshall surely didn't seem to be one to play games, but the thought of going through with this terrified him. If he didn't he'd feel like a coward, which in some senses was much worse.

''That's it I'm gonna do it.'' he retrieved his phone from his pocket and typed in the number from the card but he couldn't bring himself to press send. It seemed almost impossible for him, as if some force was stopping him from calling.

Dillon let out a breath of air and closed his eyes ''I'm gonna do it. I can't be scared for the rest of my life.''

Without looking, Dillon pressed the button quickly so that he wouldn't have a chance to pussy out. He could here the phone on the other side start to ring, his stomach sank. Part of him hoped Marshall wouldn't pick up, but luck wasn't in his favor.

''Hello, this is Marshall and who's this?"

Dillon felt a lump form in his throat "It's Dillon."

"Dillon who?" Marshall asked.

He became a bit hurt, thinking that Marshall could just forget him so easily and the awkward feeling was felt on the other side by Marshall.

"I was only kidding kid. so what time?''

''What?''

''What time do you wanna meet at Duddy's?''

''Um.. I don't know, when do you wanna... Go?''

''A little nervous are we.'' Dillon could hear Marshall laugh on the other side ''I'm not your first am I?''

''Yes. Is... Is that bad?''

''No not at all, well unless you cum to early." Marshal laughed "No reason, to get all stressed out. What happened to that cocky attitude you were showing off earlier?"

He couldn't help but wonder what the hell he meant by cocky. He'd never been a very confident person his whole life but something about what Marshal was saying was resonating in his head. He straightened his posture and felt a wave of swagger over take him. With it a strange tingling sensation began to permeate throughout his body but before he could say more marshall continued "Just be at room 4 by 8, that'll give you a couple hours to get adjusted. I'll talk to yuh soon."

Before Dillon could get a word in Marshall hung up.

Dillon stood there confused as he heard marshall hang up the phone and felt a strange sensation run through his body that he'd never felt before. He shook his head and let out a breath then walked toward his closet. He didn't understand what marshal meant by giving him a few hours to get adjusted. Adjusted into what exactly? He pushed the idea aside and decided to start getting ready He wanted to make sure he looked good but wasn't sure what to wear. Dillon pulled open the closet door and stared inside for a second before turning around with a smile on his face. He grabbed a blue dress shirt and black slacks off the hanger and set them on top of his bed.

He thought for a moment to put them on but a thought pulsed in his head. Normally this was what he'd wear to meet up with a guy but for some reason he didn't feel like he needed to dress up for him and eye balled a pair of shorts and a t-shirt instead. He put on the shorts and shirt then threw on a pair of sandals. Once he was done changing, that strange feeling in his stomach only spread through the rest of his small frame and made his body tremble. All at once he collapsed to the floor and felt his body starting to shake.

He was confused and scared at first as he watched his body swell and grow, fearing he was having an allergic reaction but quickly realized that he was packing on nothing but muscle. His arms and legs grew thicker while his chest and abs turned chiseled, it wasn't long before his shirt started to tear from the seams and he pulled it off with his new found strength. The more he watched the more he felt a rush of adrenaline course through his veins. He could feel his own masculinity getting thrown up to top notch as every aspect of his body started to become more manly by the minute.

His jawline got harder and his nose became broader, his ears grew wider and his eyes were now a tantalizing blue. His hair also grew shaggier as his small frame started to grow until he finally reached his full height at 6'3" tall.

His new body was changing with one thing after another. With every uncontrollable spasm he made became a different change to his physical appearance. His mind was racing with what all this meant but he found it harder to think as hair began to sprout across his body. His arms grew thick and hairy while his legs turned so much better than they did before, growing thicker and longer with each passing second.

Not a single part of his body remained unchanged as his back grew broad and muscular while his chest developed even bigger muscles and his abs bulked out. The hair covered him like fur growing over all of his body and became slick with sweat that wreaked of a manly stench. The smell was getting to him as his thoughts started to grow more sluggish and he could feel himself getting dumber by the second.

He felt another rush of adrenaline flow through his veins as his dick began to swell and the pain in his loins increased. He tried to move but his limbs would not respond to his commands as he laid there on the floor unable to do anything. The smell coming off his muscled jock body was strong and infected his nostrils but the disgusting odor only turned him on more. It was the scent of an alpha male. He felt his cock throbbing in his shorts and realized that it too had grown larger, stretching out his tight boxer briefs.

His cock didn't stop growing as it stretched out his underwear until finally stopping at 12 inches, leaving an impossibly big tent in his briefs. This new body's ability to grow continued as he noticed how his balls were now significantly larger than before, hanging low and heavy between his legs.

As if he hadn't already become enough of an embarrassment to himself, he couldn't control his new body as his hips began to uncontrollably buck into the air as he felt himself about to drop a potent load in his shorts. As if he was trying to save face, he managed to get to his feet and ripped off his shorts with a roar, letting his jock body fall on all fours. He rubbed one of his hands over his exposed body, taking in his new looks with pride.

Dillon looked down at his massive cock and a surge of pleasure ran through him as he remembered who he was. He saw himself as a powerful man, a force to be reckoned with and wanted to show off just how much of an Adonis he truly was. He humped the air and could feel his cock throb as he was about to bust his load all over the floor.

It felt like his whole body was on fire as his cock threatened to shoot thick ropes of cum all over his bedroom floor. He felt his orgasm build up as the pressure grew only more intense. He could feel his balls contracting and the tension building up he fell onto his back. He didn't even have to touch his cock as he thyrough his hands behind himself until finally rope after rope of cum splattered across his chest.

He fell limp to the floor, grunting and moaning in his new alpha state. Each of the thick ropes had felt like it could have been a gallon of sperm as they flew from his cock in a stream of hot white liquid. The strong scent filled the room.

He stumbled up to his feet and looked at the mess he made with a dumb broish grin. A look that he never would have been able to make before. He'd managed to get his load all over his chest and he started rubbing it into his chest hair. Not caring that he probably should take a shower.

He was a real man now and knew what he wanted, no needed. He wanted to get back at Marshall and let him know just what he planned on doing to his ass tonight. Force him to take in his new mighty and muscular body. He quickly slipped on a pair of briefs before finding his phone.

Dillon pulled out his phone to call Marshall and when he finally picked up he said in a dumb broish tone "You ready for me dude? I'm going to get my huge cock all up in your tight little ass."

He let out a dumb chuckle and he could tell Marshall was pleased with what he heard.

"I really like the attitude adjustment." Marshall said with an obvious smirk. "you remember where you're meeting me at?"

"Yeah Duddy's motel at 8."

Marshall laughed "I'll see you there soon then, don't be enjoying that big dick to much before I can get to it."

Dillon let out another brainless chuckle and replied with a dumb joke that only a halfwit like himself would find funny. "Well I better hurry before you have to use your hand for jerking off while thinking about me."

Marshall forced out another laugh and then hung up the phone. He didn't need Dillon to exactly be the brightest crayon in the box to have a good one night stand so the crude jokes were fine in his book.

Dillon smirked as he threw his phone on his bed. He clapped his hands proudly to himself and began shooting and hollering like a true bro who had just conquered yet another conquest. He began wondering how long it would take him to get to where his buddy was staying. He then wondered if maybe he had enough time to maybe jack another load before meeting up with him. An alpha like him did have an endless supply of cum filling his ballsack after all.

He picked his phone back up and found the last picture he took of his old pathetic and wimpy body. The body he had only a few mere moments ago. He used to be such a dweeb and now that he was this huge brute of a man it only filled him with more confidence knowing how far he'd come. He was the epitome of masculinity now whose mere presence demanded for other men to submit to him. He'd never been so vain before let alone so crude or arrogant about himself, but with this new body of his, how couldn't he be.

He started rubbing his massive bulge through his briefs as he imagined Marshall's eyes popping out of his head when he saw his new body and even bigger dick. Then again, Marshall had to of known how he turned him from a small twink into this hunk of a man right?

He continued rubbing his cock while looking at his own bare chest and stomach. He rubbed his pecs still feeling his load tangled in his chest hairs. He started to think about his old life. How he always wore his shirt tucked in which only showed off his small and boney frame. Now he just had to show off his six pack abs and toned pecs and that was something he never thought he'd ever have.

He started pumping his cock faster thinking about this and felt himself getting close to shooting another load. He knew he was going to enjoy his new outlook on life and how couldn't he. Sure he may have been as dumb as a box of bricks now but he had the body to make up for it. He was happy with his new outlook on life and who wouldn't be after making such drastic change.

Marshal only changed him for so that he could have a good fuck tonight but that didn't matter to Dillon. With a body like this he'd never have to worry about sex again. It was that thought that pushed him over the edge and shortly after he retrieved some clothes so he could leave and give Marshall the best lay of his life.

Then There Was One

My dad goes on the occasional business trip. I'm still at home since I'm just a senior in high school my brother is a college. Plus the family dog.

My dad always has someone to keep an eye on me when he's out of town. 18 years old or not. Since my brother's college is not that far away. So he had him come home and stay with me. Which I can do without.

When he comes home he stays in his room but his buddy, his roommate comes along and stays in my room. I have to sleep on the couch in the family room and they treat me like their slave.

I'm Tommy. And my brother, jock want to be Paul. I say it, because he's a second-string jock and he hardly ever plays.

When Paul comes home it was brings his roommate Tyler. Tyler's on his school swim team and he's in really great shape. He should take my brother to the gym with him and get him in that kind of shape. But... That we don't have to really worry about that anymore.

This weekend I've got some big plan for both of them.

My brother comes home tosses his stuff into his room, Tyler comes kicks me out of my room.

My brother stocks the fridge with beer for the two of them to drink and sends me out to pick up the food they ordered. My brother doesn't want to pay for delivery.

But that works out fine for me because of my little surprise I have for them.

About a month ago I found an old Apothecary shop and I founded the items I needed to make some changes.

I picked Paul and Tyler's food along with my own. I went to the site counter of the restaurant to check the order and that's when I added the extra ingredients to Paul and Tyler's food.

When I got home they were out in the pool deck waiting for me. I brought them their food out with their beer which I also drugged with this special ingredients.

After about 2 hours Paul and Tyler were ready to go. And my brother Paul was the first one.

I can tell the stuff at taken effects my brother Paul had no fight in him. I dragged him to the side of the garage out of Tyler's view.

He was out of it and just stood there.

I pull off his jeans and underwear. Brother I'm about to becomes an only child and you're going to be part of it.

I stood behind him and being a smaller frame this was going to be easy. I started wrapping my arms around him and squeezing as I pulled myself inside his body.

It was a weird feeling as our bodies merged how I was melting inside him. My body is morphine with his as I was changing. My height started to match his as we became one. My chest sinking into his back. Our arms and legs become one. As I take over his body.

My own body being on the slim side, really didn't have much effect on his body. But once the merger was completed I did see our faces we had combined our to a good looks into a new face.

I was now in control my brother's body . I am now an only child. Since I merged into my brother's body I took his height and his age.

I got dressed to join my guest Tyler.

When I got back the pool deck he was in pretty much the same state as Paul was in. But my plans for his roommate were different than what I had for Paul.

Hey dude why don't you get your suit on we'll go in the pool.

Tyler was moving so slow and totally out of it.

What I slip into the Paul lunch was different than what I've gave Tyler. I'm going to add all this muscle mass to the my body, now have from my brother body.

Tyler just stood there, so i he's helped him by slide off his underwear. He was now completely naked as I lay them down on top of a lawn chair.

I got undressed quickly.

I prime Tyler's body the start the merging process.

Tyler was rock hard at the time and when I sat down on him. I align his firm cock to the opening in my ass. I position myself so it would slide in side me. This step went to smooth so I have a feeling my brother and him maybe doing a little something behind closed doors.

As I lay down on top a Tyler I could feel his dick pulsing as I align myself on top of him. Soon our body started to merge together. Has his lower extremities past to my butt cheeks, our legs merging together. His chest slipping into my back and taking its position. Speaking of positions I can feel my brother's, oh I'm sorry my dick grow bigger and harder. The merging of our bodies becoming quite successful. I could feel Tyler's nose at the back of my head but soon it was passing through emerging in with mine. For a short time I blacked out.

My eyes opened and I found myself being the only one laying in the lawn chair. The merger was completed I could feel the difference in my body already the muscular tone coming through.

I maybe Paul now. But.. I am an intelligent college student having the minds of Tyler, my brother Paul and myself combined into one. Merging all our knowledge and talents together.

I slept well that night in my new bedroom. Pictures of me on the wall. Trophies with my name on it. Being a first string lineman on the college football team.

I was sitting with my feet in the pool when my dad came home a few days later.

Thanks Paul for taking care of the house and the dog. You heading back to school tonight you got classes in the morning and a football game on Friday I'm sure you need to get back for practice.

Even my dad found me as Paul his only son. And this body is amazing. I'm also glad that Tyler's clothes fit me.

The Trump Trail

--- Original author: realhankmccoy ---

--- TW: Liberal to conservative / MAGA ---

--- Reminder: this is homo-erotic fiction ---

These two best bud just started going down the Trump Trail recently.

Raised by silent majority types, they never even really thought of politics most of their lives.

Their parents wanted to give them a childhood, something liberals usually don’t – except for that fact that liberals are still children, basically, their entire lives, haha.

Then there was an incident at school, a call-out incident of sorts, a leftist attempt to severely hurt an innocent child just because of who his parents might be and the body he didn’t choose.

To deal with this radicalisation, John’s parents thought he was old enough to discuss sociopolitics, and so did Mike’s… everyone in their neighborhood was talking about what had happened.

Just wanting to help make the world better, they decided to start supporting Trump’s reelection campaign, all so that American values can be affirmed again and the world can get back to some sort of balance.

Being football guys, they’d started working out, and meshing that with the Trump gear and the thought of crushing liberals on the football field all had been boiling over into one heck of an exciting time.

They’re already looking this good and put this much muscle on, so can you imagine how they’re going to look, how they’re going to act, how they’re going to fuck… two years from now, or four years down the road?

They’re just getting started, bro.

Nothing motivates you to perfect your body, lifestyle, and personality like putting leftists in their place.

If that’s not true, why do the facts of our world seem to say otherwise?

If leftists are so smart and hard-working, why are they on the bottom? Why do they commit most of the crimes, and why are their lives such disasters?

Why are they all waiting around for daddy to give them money? Why don’t they do charity?

Why are leftists so jealous of all the good looks and good fortune of the rightists, so jealous that they’re trying to tax it, so jealous that it makes them almost suicidal, that is when they’re not getting homicidal?

Riddle me that, bro.

Here’s the answer: because we are better than them.

This is just the start, I suppose.  I resisted for a long time.  Fuck if I wanted to play football, and I definitely didn’t want to be parading around without a shirt like the older teenage guys were doing.

Then puberty hit me like a truck.  Almost overnight, I’m getting this hair in places I never wanted it, even having to shave my face, embarrassed, just like a lot of the guys are, prolly… not sure if I should shave the rest on my body, too… and my dick goes from this normal sized thing, to this protruding snake in my pants.  I mean, seriously, gets long and fat as hell.  So I’ve got this bulge in my shorts, now.  And it gets hard now, just like an adult guy, but I’m only a teenager and bam… I’m creaming loads of sperm into my underwear, I’m jacking off to porn late at night when nobody’s looking.  I tried not to at first, but once I started, pretty soon I was jacking two or even three times a night, staying up real late.  It was cray for sure, even though I knew it was just normal.

Then I get it, you know, the guys I want to jack off to are all the hot jocks, the ones with muscle, the… and I’m getting tall, man.  I keep thinking about how I’m not like that, but then… and they want me to join the team…

So, I go for it.  I can always stop, I tell myself.  But it feels good, doing my first pullup, and when I start to notice the muscle grow, I’m jacking off to my own reflection in the mirror, even.

I buy some new clothes at the mall, just to try ‘em, and it looks good so I decide I’m gonna change my whole wardrobe.  Athletic shorts, started cutting off my sleeves to show off these guns, a gold necklace like a lot of the guys wear, and I’ve gotten comfortable going without a shirt now, even when other people are around.  I mean, why not, I look good, might as well just be myself, you know?

Everything about it turns me on, and I changed so much over the summer that folks even said they really noticed it when I went back this fall, how tall I am, how deep my voice is.  Everybody seems to like me more, too, like I’m more popular and stuff.

So I want to stick with it, really work out hard this year.  Like, i love how I look now, and it makes me want to beat off hard… I can jack in front of the mirror for hours… and sometimes I just imagine how I’ll look once after I really start lifting even more, and I flex, and the pump gets me off.  Plus, someday I can imagine fooling around with another dude for the first time on the DL… and I want to look my best, ya know.  So yeah.